Insane
by He Who Writes His Own Canon
Summary: What if it wasn't Tate's idea to shoot up Westfield High? What if he was manipulated into it by someone who not only wanted revenge on those who mocked him but also wanted Tate for himself? Slash M/M Tate/OC.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N**_: Okay, this is my first _AHS_ story and it's basically a "what if it wasn't Tate's idea to shoot up the school?". The OC presented here, Joel, is one of my regulars and can be seen in many of my other stories.

* * *

1994, a year that, at Westfield High, no one would ever forget.

* * *

Joel Richardson walked into Westfield High for another day of what he knew was going to be nothing but torture. Narrowly dodging the outstretched foot of a jock, Joel headed for his first period English class with Miss Minear.

"Mr. Richardson, you're late... again." Miss Minear looked at Joel reproachfully.

"My apologies, ma'am." Joel's voice was quiet; he didn't look up. "I'll be better about it."

"The only open seat is next to Mr. Langdon," she said, picking up her book. Joel raised his head to see Tate Langdon lounging in the seat closest to the window. He bit his lip and dropped his knapsack next to the desk and slipped in. Tate glanced over at him and nodded curtly. Joel blushed and hid behind his textbook.

"Hey, freak." Joel felt a pencil jab into his back. He knew who it was, but refused to give Kyle Greenwell an excuse to torment him. "I'm talking to you, Richardson."

"What do you want?" he hissed.

"Got what I asked for, twerp?" Kyle whispered, leaning towards Joel while Miss Minear's back was turned.

"You know, you should be a lot nicer to the guy dealing you drugs," Joel snapped in a low voice. He suddenly winced for Kyle had grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"And you should be a lot nicer to people, Richardson, and maybe they wouldn't treat you like shit," Kyle sneered. Joel wrenched his arm away from Kyle. "After school, you little punk, you better have it." Out of the corner of his eye, Joel could've sworn he saw Tate look at him.

* * *

"Hey, Joel, wait up." Joel turned to see Tate coming up to him. He swallowed and fumbled to find his voice.

"Uh, h-hi, Tate," he said, feeling a nervous sweat start up.

"You shouldn't take that kind of shit from Greenwell. I mean, the guy's a tool." Joel smiled a little. "But you should stand up for yourself."

Joel sighed and looked down at himself. "Have you seen me? I'm exactly what they say I am, a skinny little twerp who can't do a goddamn thing. I mean, I'm five-six and fucking Greenwell's damn near six-four. Even you, you've got like five inches on me."

"Hey, Tate, come on, man, we got a free period to practice," Zack Shadley called.

"Yeah, I'll see you there," Tate replied before turning back to Joel. "Meet me under the East Wing stairs at a quarter past noon." Joel nodded and Tate took off after Zack. The next thing Joel saw was the locker. He heard laughter and he lashed out blindly, making contact with someone's face. The corridor was silent and Joel looked up to see Kyle Greenwell holding his bleeding nose.

"Oh, fuck. Kyle, I'm sor..." He was slammed into the locker again and he crumpled to the floor. Kyle bent down next to him.

"You're fucking dead, runt," he whispered and punched Joel in the gut, making the boy curl up. Through blurry vision, Joel could see Kyle stand up and put his arm around his girlfriend Chloe Stapleton, who giggled and kissed Kyle's cheek. Joel whimpered and he could hear people walking by, snickering.

* * *

Tate looked at his watch and around the corner, only to find Joel lying on the floor in front of the cafeteria doors. He rushed over and helped him up.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Joel's lip was bleeding and the left side of his face was swelling up.

"Take a wild guess," he mumbled. Tate accompanied Joel over to the bench and sat him down gently. "After you left, Greenwell threw me against a locker and I took a swing at him, hitting him in the face."

"Good on you."

"Oh, yeah, all he got was a broken nose," Joel muttered. "Look at me. I look like I've been in a fucking trainwreck. Not like anyone at home would notice anyway."

"What if I show you how to fight for yourself?" Tate offered, wiping the blood from Joel's face with a discarded sweater.

"Do I look like I'm in the position to fight the quarterback of the football team?" Tate sighed and stretched. Joel could see the sliver of hair down Tate's stomach and averted his gaze. "Thank you for being nice to me, Tate, but you shouldn't risk your reputation, being seen with me."

"Fuck reputation," Tate scoffed. "Just because some people are pricks doesn't mean everyone else has to suffer."

Joel looked at Tate and moved towards him slowly. "You're the nicest person here," he whispered.

"Thanks," Tate mumbled. "You're pretty cool too." Joel slowly maneuvered a hand on Tate's leg before being violently pushed against the wall; Tate held him by the front of his shirt. "What the fuck are you doing? You some kind of faggot?" Joel opened his mouth to deny it, but he simply closed it and nodded. "I'm not a homo, Richardson. Fuck off." Tate grabbed Joel by the scruff of the neck and shoved him away.

"Tate, wait!" Joel stumbled but caught himself and turned. Tate eyed the shorter boy warily. "Please don't tell anyone."

* * *

Tate walked down the hallway towards the field and thought about what just transpired. He wasn't a fag. Sure, he wore eyeliner and the occasional makeup, but that didn't make him a queer.

"Dude, Tate, what's up?" Zack asked, catching up to him.

"Nothing." He may be something of a dick, but he wasn't going to out Joel. "It's nothing, Zack."

"You sure? I mean, whatever it is, I got your back." Zack punched Tate's shoulder lightly.

"What would you say if you got hit on by a gay guy?" Zack looked at him pointedly.

"I'd kick the queer's ass," Zack replied simply. "Some closet case try to get into your pants, bro?" Tate shook his head. "Alright, well, that's what I would do."

The two entered the locker room and Tate changed into his gym shorts and a jersey before heading outside and starting to run. Tate felt as if running would take him away from the shit going on at home; an absent father, a neglectful mother, an older sister he could barely talk to. After a couple laps, he stopped and sat down on the bench, grabbing his water bottle.

"Look, I don't have it." Tate heard a nervous voice from under the bleachers. He stood up and slowly approached the source. He saw Kyle Greenwell holding someone on the ground; Tate got close enough to realize that it was Joel.

"I'm going to ask you again, Richardson. Where the fuck is my pot?" Joel struggled to get up, but Greenwell easily held him down. "Say you don't have it again and I'll break your face, you little shit. Hand it over."

"Kyle, please," Joel begged, only to have his face pressed into the dirt. He reached into his back pocket and produced a baggie, which Greenwell snatched and let him go. Joel got up and glared at the jock. "You're a prick, you know that?"

"I know," Greenwell smirked. "And this is for lying to me." He slammed his fist into Joel's gut, making the smaller boy double over, wheezing. "See you tomorrow, Richardson."

Tate stepped out and Joel's eyes widened when he saw him. "How much did you see?"

"You sell drugs?" Tate raised an eyebrow. Joel looked around quickly before making his way over to Tate.

"Yes, I do," he admitted. "And not just simple things like cigarettes and pot. I also sell Ecstasy and meth."

"How?" Tate was surprised. A guy as seemingly normal as Joel is a drug dealer?

"My parents are addicts," Joel said as if it were obvious. "How the hell else does a seventeen-year-old get such hard drugs?"

Tate shrugged.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," Joel whispered. "I shouldn't have tried to make a pass at you and I apologize."

"It's alright," Tate smiled slightly. "It's just no guy has ever hit on me before."

"That comes as a surprise to me," Joel said. "Anyway, uh, you doing anything tonight?"

"No, not really, unless you count being told you're worthless by your own mother counts as something," Tate muttered.

"I get the same thing, I feel your pain," Joel consoled. "We could go catch a flick or something. That movie that's been raising hell is playing; you know, _Natural Born Killers_?"

"Sure." Tate nodded and Joel smiled, genuinely this time.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N**_: Sorry this took a while, but I was debating how to elaborate more.

* * *

"Holy shit, that movie is fucking amazing," Joel said, walking out of the theater. "I can see why people got so mad about it, but it was awesome." Tate smiled at the shorter boy's energy. "So what do you want to do now?"

"I don't know," Tate shrugged. "Maybe go back to your place and chill?"

"Ooh, are we already at that stage of our relationship?" Joel smirked. Tate looked down at Joel, surprised. "I'm kidding, dude. Relax." He pulled out a flask and took a long drink. "Want some?"

"So you deal drugs _and_ you drink?" Tate shook his head. "What completely illegal thing is next?"

"Hey, Zeke!" A passerby called to Joel, who flushed and avoided Tate's eyes.

"Zeke? What's that, your prostitute name?" When Joel declined to answer, Tate stopped walking and moved in front of Joel. "You're a whore?"

"Watch it. I don't like that term. I prefer hustler." Joel folded his arms and stared up at Tate.

"Do you realize what is at stake if you live like this?"

"I am very well aware of what my life could be, thank you, Tate." Joel was livid. "Besides, I don't tell you how to live your life." A moment of silence passed. "I'll see you at school." Joel walked off, leaving Tate standing in the street.

* * *

Over the next few days, Tate saw very little of Joel. Maybe he was being ignored or maybe Joel stopped coming to school. About a week later, Tate entered Westfield High and saw a group of people standing in the quad. Getting closer, he could hear jeers and taunts. In the middle, he found Joel on the floor and Kyle Greenwell and his band of jocks heckling him.

"You're a fucking queer, Richardson," one guy sneered. Tate was actually a little surprised that Joel didn't even seem to have a biting comment, much less acknowledge them. The boy was looking at the floor, trying to gather his belongings into his knapsack.

"Leave him alone," he interrupted. Joel looked up; Tate could see the tears forming in his eyes. "Just back off." Tate pushed Kyle away from Joel and helped the brunet up. "You're all sick." He led Joel outside and pushed his hair from his eyes.

"Why did you help me?"

"Unlike most of those assholes, I'm not just going to stand there and let you be humiliated," Tate said. Joel wiped his eyes on his sleeve and sniffled.

"Thank you. You're the first person who's ever stood up for me."

"No problem." Tate smiled a little and hitched his backpack over his shoulder.

"They're all going to regret it. Everyone who made my life a living hell is going to pay for it." Joel's voice sounded dark if not a little inhuman.

"Wait, what?" Tate slumped against the brick wall and stared at Joel.

"You know exactly what I mean, Tate." Joel raised his head, smirking. "If you help me, I can make your life worth living. You and I are going to be famous."

"Okay, maybe it's just the movie we saw last week or your own delusions of grandeur, but I'm not going to kill people." Tate started to get up but Joel pushed him back down.

"Listen to me, Tate Langdon, if you don't do this with me, you won't live to see your graduation day either." Tate shoved Joel away.

"Don't threaten me, you psychotic little shit," he snapped. Tate grabbed Joel by the shirt and slammed him into the wall. "I'm not a killer."

The second he released Joel, the smaller boy grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him roughly. Tate tried to pull away, but Joel only pulled him closer. He was slightly taken aback by how strong Joel was, but also by how much he liked it when Joel forced himself onto him. He was a little anxious when Joel let go.

"Think it over." Joel was smirking as he grabbed his bag and ran inside.

* * *

Tate sat alone in his usual lunch spot of under the East Wing stairs. He was so sure that he wasn't gay, but feeling Joel on him like that turned him on. He soon came to the realization that he may not be exclusively gay, but possibly only for Joel. Tate grabbed his backpack and went searching for Joel, who he found huddled in a corner of the quad.

"Hey, Joel." The brunet lowered a copy of _The Turner Diaries_ and brushed his hair back.

"So what do you say? You in or out?"

"I'm not so sure about the killing aspect, but I do want you." Tate swallowed and moved to touch Joel's hand, but the boy swatted his hand.

"Not in public, dumbass," he scolded. "I already get enough crap from people for simply seeming gay. Do you really want me to be beaten up more? Besides, I'm sure your friends wouldn't be as accepting as anyone else."

"Well, when can we?" Tate bit his lip.

"Come over after school." Joel jotted something down on a scrap of paper. "Here's my address."

* * *

Tate cautiously approached 81 Sharzer Way and knocked on the door. It opened to reveal a tall blonde woman holding a bottle of vodka and a wine glass.

"Yeah, who are you?" She leaned on the door frame and poured herself a drink.

"I'm looking for Joel. Are you his mom?"

"Unfortunately." She opened the door and Tate walked in. "Joel! Your friend's here!" Joel came bounding down the stairs and grinned when he saw Tate.

"Hey, Tate, come on up," he said. To the woman, he scoffed. "Hey, Christine, why don't you lay off the vodka? You could do to lose some of that water weight from Carolyn that's taken eighteen years to go away."

"I'm your mom, Joel," Christine slurred. "Call me Mom."

"My mother was a saint, God rest her soul. You are the best the fucker I am ever so lucky to call my father could get after she died. Your drunken drug addict self does not deserve to be called my mother." Joel grabbed Tate's hand and ran upstairs.

"Joel!" A yell came from another room just before Joel was able to close his bedroom door.

"What?!" He poked his head out and Tate saw a blonde girl maybe a few years older than Joel in a towel run over.

"My shower's broken," she whined. "Can I use yours?"

"Can't you see I have someone over?" Joel hissed.

The girl spotted Tate. "No fucking way. That is so not Tate Langdon. What would he be doing hanging out with _you_?"

"We have guy business," Joel snapped. "Why don't you go join your mom in making meth out back?"

"You're such a loser, Joel," she scoffed.

"At least I'm not a trainwreck slut like you, Carolyn!" Joel slammed the door. "Fucking chicks, man."

"So what now?" Tate fidgeted with his shirt.

"Well, we can continue what we started earlier," Joel purred, pulling Tate's shirt over his head. "Damn, dude, you must work out." He pulled Tate into a kiss and proceeded to trail kisses down Tate's bare chest. Tate let out a moan and felt Joel unbuckling his pants.

"Looks like Tate Junior's ready to blow a load." Tate took a deep, shuddering breath and whimpered quietly as Joel sucked him off.

"J-Joel?" Joel looked up. "I want you to do what you did earlier."

"Done." Joel pushed Tate backwards onto the bed and pinned him down. "Like that?" Tate nodded. Joel straddled Tate's chest and started stroking the curly-haired boy's erection. Tate reached up to touch Joel, but he found his hand held above his head.

"I know you want to feel me up, Tate, but you're going to have to wait. Understood?" Tate nodded again and closed his eyes. A minute later, he could feel himself relax and Joel was snickering. Opening his eyes, he sat that Joel had taken off his shirt and was wiping up the sticky white substance that emitted from Tate's cock.

"Haven't jacked off in days, huh?" Joel raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, Joel?" The brunet looked up. "I'm sorry I called you a fag..."

"Tate, stop. Just stop. It's fine." Joel waved this off. "I've been called worse and they all meant it, so, with you, it's totally cool. You were caught off-guard and, from what I gathered, a little flattered."

"I'm not gay like you, Joel, but I think I'm gay just for you." Tate smiled a little.

"And I am so cool with that." Joel leaned over and kissed Tate gently. "Just remember two things, Tate."

"What are they?" Joel pushed Tate back down onto the bed with one hand.

"One, you keep your hands to yourself in public, and two, if you ever tell anyone about what I have planned for Westfield High, I will not hesitate to kill you. Is that understood?" Tate swallowed and blinked. "I said, _is that understood_?"

"Y-yeah," Tate stammered. Joel smirked and kissed Tate again.

"Good."


End file.
